


You’re A Pond And I’m An Ocean

by MaryaDmitrievnaLikesSundays



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Coming Out, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:47:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28346391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryaDmitrievnaLikesSundays/pseuds/MaryaDmitrievnaLikesSundays
Summary: But then he met Henry’s eyes, and they were so vulnerable, so scared, so young, and he knew what Henry was going to say before he even said it.”I’m gay,” Henry whispered, a tear finally slipping down his cheek. “I’ve—I’ve never told anyone that before. Fuck. Fuck.””Henry...” Shaan started. He couldn’t finish. He was prepared to deal with mass shootings and PR scandals. He had no idea what to do when a grieving teenage royal was coming out to him.——Or, when Bea checks herself out of rehab, Shaan gives seventeen-year-old Henry the strength he needs to go find her.
Relationships: Beatrice Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor & Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor & Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor & Shaan Srivastava, Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor & Queen Mary
Comments: 12
Kudos: 121





	You’re A Pond And I’m An Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> Henry is a sad gay who watched his father die from cancer with a depressed mom one self destructive sibling and one dangerously composed one and that is far too similar to my own life

Shan’s coffee was hot and tasted like the metal interior of his years-old thermos. He wasn’t complaining: the drink was comforting, familiar. God knows with the months he’d been having, he needed some fucking familiarity.

He took another pull as he typed with one hand, bullshitting an email to some prime minister or another. They were all the same, really: thank you for your condolences, the royal family continues to carry out their duties, send gift baskets to this address, etc. It had started to blur together.

His expensive shoes echoed on the much more expensive marble underfoot. He didn’t even know where he was going, honestly, but it seemed to him that half his job was walking around with purpose. He copy-pasted the same bland emails over and over, strolling past guards, meeting spots, and the hundreds upon hundreds of little rooms in Palace of Windsor. Every room was a little too cold, a little too silent. He didn’t know how anyone could stand to live in it.

His thoughts drifted to the palace’s residents, the ones who had to stand it, who didn’t get to go home at the end of a long day. The queen had gone back to Buckingham Palace a week before, so now it was just the Fox-Windsors. Catherine had shut herself away in her room. She hardly ate, slept all day, from what Shaan had overheard from the staff. She hadn’t made a single public appearance since the funeral, and Shaan himself had only seen her once in the month since Arthur had died.

He pushed away the spike of pain that name brought him.

As for the children...well, they weren’t faring much better. Philip had put on a brave face, shoved himself away and jumped into leadership, but Shaan knew him better than that. The boy—no, the _man_ , now—was hurting. It showed in every paper he signed, ever interview he attended, every event and duty he’d been shoved into far too young.

Bea was going the opposite way. She had completely abandoned her royal duties and all but disappeared from the palace. She’d always been on the wild side, but ever since Arthur’s diagnosis, she’d been going downhill. His death just sent her over an edge. He had no idea where she was right now, but he knew from pictures of her blown pupils and her door left wide open that it was nowhere good. He sighed and prayed to whatever god he didn’t believe in that she was safe.

As for Henry...well, Shaan wasn’t sure. Henry had always been more reserved, blended into the background whenever he could. Even after all these years, Shaan felt like he barely knew him, like Henry was giving him some kind of placid front and shoving away his real mind the entire time. He knew Henry was shy, the prescribed medication and right public smiles were evidence, knew that he liked Cornetto’s ice cream best, knew that he had been closest to his father, and knew that he was the only one of the three who had cried at the funeral. Bea was too high to know what was going on, Phillip was determined to keep a stony face, but for just a moment, Henry’s royal facade had crumbled. Shaan didn’t think he’d ever forget the look of tear tracks shining down his face.

But otherwise, Henry’s truth had been hidden away. He continued his duties emptily with vacant eyes and shaking hands. He stayed in his rooms when he could, but came out when he had to. He shoved himself into a corner and gave nothing away.

Shaan sighed and hit send on another email, opened the next one. The United States President had some kind words that he didn’t much care to read. After barely skimming the message, he clicked reply and started another bland response.

The faint sound of crying pulled him out of his thoughts. Shaan lifted his head and realized, somehow, he had made it to the residential wing of the palace, and he was just outside of Henry’s bedroom. The door was cracked open.

Shaan tucked his phone away and approached the door, looking into the room. The light was dim, and he could see nothing but a sliver of floor and wall. He was right, though, about what he heard. Definite sobs came from the room, muffled but there.

Shaan cursed under his breath. Consoling grieving teenager wasn’t part of his job description, but it didn’t seem right to just leave a kid alone in distress. He wasn’t sure if Henry’s therapist was on call, but even if he was, Shaan didn’t have his phone number saved, and by the time he arrived Henry would have probably retreated into his mind again.   
  


A pained groan inbetween breaths cemented his decision. Slowly, Shaan pushed the heavy door open.

In the low light, it was hard to make out anything. Henry’s bed was unmade, his rug was rumpled, and his pillows were strewn about the floor. Once his eyes adjusted, Shaan could see a shape on the couch, turned away from him, rocking back and forth slightly.

”Henry?” He asked softly. Henry didn’t acknowledge him, but he brought a hand up to his mouth to stifle a sob. “You alright, mate?”

Shaan slowly approached the couch until he stood in front of Henry, who was curled into a small ball, rocking in place, one hand covering his mouth and the other tugging at his unbrushed blonde hair. His bloodshot eyes flitted to Shaan quickly, then back down.

Carefully, Shaan sat down next to Henry, set his coffee down on the low table beside him. He started to put a hand on his shoulder but stopped himself. “Henry,” he said again, “What happened?” He knew what happened, the chemo and the coffin and the eulogies, but what else could he say?

Henry shook his head _no_ , more of a pained jerk than a gesture, and continued trying to muffle the cries pouring out of him.

  
“Come on...”

No reply. Shaan sighed.

”I’m not just your handler, you know. Even if it doesn’t seem like I’ve always been there, I’ve watched you grow up. You can tell me things.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Henry uncovered his mouth. He sniffed and whispered, “It’s Bea.”

A cold pit formed in Shaan’s stomach. She’d gotten herself in trouble before, sure, but Henry’s tone indicated something far worse than a quick DUI or kiss-and-tell hookup.

Biting back a sob, Henry continued, “She’s going to die. I know she is. She doesn’t even care.”

”That’s not true,” Shaan said, but he wasn’t sure how much he believed it.

Henry shook his head again. He wasn’t looking Shaan in the eye, staring instead at some point in the distance. His signet ring was cutting into his scalp, and Shaan could see blood starting to gather. “She is. She wants to die. She doesn’t even care she’ll be leaving me alone with—with _them_.”

Shaan didn’t know who _them_ was, but the sheer pain on Henry’s face was like a blow to the stomach. A line of blood started to trail down his temple, mixing with sweat and tears. Shaan shuddered to think of the agony that could bring a prince to this state.

”Where’s the medicine Dr. Randall prescribed? Let’s get you a pill, yeah?”

“I don’t want another bloody pill!” Henry snapped, his voice rising suddenly. He dropped his hands and finally looked Shaan in the eye. Something in his gaze was cracked, jagged and sharp as shards of glass. “They don’t even fucking help, Shaan! I just want—I just want my sister to care about being alive.”

Shaan blinked. “I’m—I’m sure she cares, Henry.”

Henry wiped viciously at his red face. “No. She doesn’t care about anything. S-she doesn’t care about herself, or mum, or me. She just wants her fucking drugs.”

Shaan started to interject, but Henry continued, “She was the last one I could talk to. She—she doesn’t even know who I am, doesn’t know the half of it, but she was the only one who could fucking stomach it to try, but she just checked herself out of the rehab she didn’t even want to go to because she doesn’t care if she dies and leaves me alone with Philip and Gran until the weight of the damn world and my own secrets breaks my back. She used to, I know she used to because she would help me bear it and listen to all the shit Gran said to me but the coke fried her damn brain and she doesn’t even _think_ about—about what she’s doing to me, and _fuck_ this is so selfish, I know addiction is a disease, and she’s dying but I’m just so _mad_ at her and—and—“ Henry choked off with a loud sob that bordered on a shout.

Shaan reached over and rubbed his back as Henry doubled over, burying his face in his knees. His hands clawed at his face, so hard Shaan was afraid he’d draw more blood. “It’s alright,” he soothed, because he didn’t know what else to do. “She’ll be alright. She always is.”

”No,” Henry said miserably, his voice muffled. “She won’t. She’s going to leave me here. With Gran and Phillip.”

”They _love you,_ Henry. Why is it so bad living with them?”

Henry straightened a bit, met Shaan’s gaze again. His eyes were still shattered, but the glass wasn’t sharp and dangerous. It was broken and sad.

”They—they said I can’t say it. G-Gran did, at least, and Philip would agree.”

Shaan was no stranger to royal secrets, he usually respected whatever they had to cover, but he couldn’t watch Henry be torn apart by whatever he was hiding. Maybe, if Shaan could get him to confide in him, he’d be more comfortable until Bea got her shit together.

He made a mental note to personally shout at her next time she came home for daring to cause her brother this much pain, when he’d already been hurt far beyond anything a teenager should have to endure.

”Just—let’s go off the record for a second,” Shaan said. “I’m not your royal handler right now, alright? I’m Shaan, the middle aged bastard with mediocre fashion sense and coffee strong enough to kill an elephant.” Henry mustered a weak smile, and something lifted in Shaan’s chest. “You could confess to mass murder, kid, and I wouldn’t think any less of you. Nothing you could ever do would make me leave you. We’re family at this point. Whatever you have to say, if you choose to say it, I’m right here.”

Henry’s lip trembled, and tears started to well up in his eyes again. He paled, and for a terrible second Shaan thought he had done the wrong thing, and Henry would only be more shut off from him.

But then Henry did something Shaan had never seen before. He steeled himself and stuck out his chin. Resolve hardened his expression, and he dared to draw in a breath and say, his voice quiet but steady, “I went on a date with Katherine Stover four months ago.”

Shaan’s brow furrowed. “...Okay?”

”But I didn’t love her.”

”That’s—That’s it?” Shaan asked. “Henry, you’re seventeen, no one expects you to fall in love with every girl you go on a date with. Jesus, I know you have high morals, but if you’re tearing yourself up over—“

”I loved her brother. Jonathan Stover.”

Shaan blinked. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the hours he’d spent sending out emails, but his brain was having a hard time putting together Henry’s words. What in God’s name was he talking about?

But then he met Henry’s eyes, and they were so vulnerable, so scared, so _young_ , and he knew what Henry was going to say before he even said it.

”I’m gay,” Henry whispered, a tear finally slipping down his cheek. “I’ve—I’ve never told anyone that before. Fuck. _Fuck_.”

”Henry...” Shaan started. He couldn’t finish. He was prepared to deal with mass shootings and PR scandals. He had no idea what to do when a grieving teenage royal was coming out to him.

Henry said, ”I think Gran overheard me calling Jonathan. I think she knew I had a crush on him, because last week, the day before she left, she—she sat me down and t-told me I was supposed to suppress any _unnatural urges_.” Henry spit out the phrase like it tasted sour on his tongue. “And I know Philip feels the same way, he’s never tried to hide it, and so I can’t think about what I’m gonna do later because I know I’ll have to marry some girl and just the _thought_ of that disgusts me, and know she’ll hate it too because I wouldn’t be able to love her. And I can’t think about anything past yesterday because I barely fucking remember it and I black out whenever I think of D-Dad because I just see his _corpse_.”

Henry drew in a shaking breath, let it out in a slow exhale, closed his eyes and winced like it hurt him.

”Shaan, did you know dying people go cold while they’re still alive? Dad’s hand was freezing hours before it happened. It almost hurt to hold. And a dead body’s mouth hangs open. Did you know that? The jaw goes slack. It’s awful. So I can’t think of anything in the past because it’s just a ghost in every memory and I can’t think of the future because it’s too much and then I can’t _breathe_ , and now I can’t think of the present either because right now Bea is running around town probably high off her ass and Philip is trying to find her and I don’t have anything to do but sit here and wait for someone to call because they found her body.”

Henry’s voice broke on the last word, and for all his professionalism and strength, a hard lump formed in Shaan’s throat. He forced himself to speak around it.

”Henry,” he started slowly, “I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like to be you. All those rules and etiquette, I mean, I’d go nuts.” Henry nodded, just a bit. “I’ve never been through anything like what you have, and I’m so, so sorry you had to live through this at such a young age. And Jesus Christ, I don’t know what to do about your future, but I’m telling you right now, I couldn’t give less of a shit that you’re gay. I’ve loved you like a son ever since your father showed me your picture, when you were barely even two, and told me to take care of you. Nothing you’ve ever done or ever will do could change that.”

Henry choked out a sob. Slowly, carefully, Shaan put his hand on top of Henry’s. His fingers were long and nimble and _trembling_.

”But I know one thing for sure. Bea loves you more than anything. The day before your father died, she came up to me and told me to take care of you, because she didn’t think she could. You have to tell her she can. Because I’ll protect you, God knows I will, but I’m not your sister. I can’t relate to you like she can. So whatever you decide to do tonight, whatever you want to say to her—if you want to talk to her at all—I promise, it’ll be the right thing. It’ll always be the right thing, because you love her, and she loves you, and that will be enough.”

And, one more time, Henry looked Shaan straight in the eye. They were blue, strong, healing. Those cracks were closing. The glass was being mended as Shaan watched.

”Could I—“ Henry’s voice cracked. He sniffed and tried again. “Could I go find her? I think I might know where she’s gone.”

Shaan nodded quickly and stood. “Of course. Yeah, of course. Let me get the keys and—“

”I want to drive.” Henry’s voice was stronger now, and he rose shakily from the couch. “Just me.”

Shaan blinked. He wasn’t supposed to let a royal heir out alone, ever. But then again, princes weren’t supposed to be gay, fathers weren’t supposed to die, and sisters weren’t supposed to make an extra mess of things. If this could be the turning point Shaan suspected it would be, it was worth it.

He fished a set of car keys out of his coat pocket. He tossed them to Henry, who fumbled but caught them, staring at the little metal bits like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

”Drive safe, mate.”

And for all of his distance, his introspective tendencies and withdrawn smiles, Henry did something that surprised Shaan. He surged forwards and wrapped him in a strong hug, burying his wet face in Shaan’s shoulder.

After a second of initial shock, Shaan held him back fiercely, and for the first time in his life, he understood why Arthur had skipped so many royal meetings and important movie shoots just to take his kids out to lunch. For the first time, Shaan knew what it was to be a father.

Henry pulled away slowly, and with a muttered thanks, he had flown out of the room, the still-swinging door the only evidence he had been there at all.

Shaan blinked. He took off his coat and folded it over his arm. He clicked on a lamp, sat down on the bed, stared into the open air.

For a long moment, he was silent.

Then, Shaan did something he hadn’t done since he was a boy.

He clasped his hands together, and he prayed.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment bitches bc the rwarb readers always have the best comments also I bought a physical copy I’m so excited to annotate it


End file.
